


A Pound of Flesh

by jellybeanforest



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alliances and Cliques, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate universe - Mafia, Bottom Steve Rogers, Cap-Ironman Bingo, Dark Tony Stark, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Mob Boss Tony Stark, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Pegging, Pepper trains Steve for Tony, Protective Steve Rogers, Sex Toys, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Slavery, Sorry Not Sorry, Threats of Graphic Violence, Top Pepper Potts, Top Tony Stark, Unadulterated trash, Unhappy Ending, Unsafe Sex, quid pro quo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21866389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest
Summary: To save Bucky, Steve volunteers to work off his debt to the Carbonell crime family. Unfortunately, he is unsuited for the role of enforcer, unable to beat and murder those in the same position as Bucky. He is brought before the mob boss, Tony Stark, who demands his pound of flesh in the wake of Steve’s failure. But upon seeing the attractive blond, Tony proposes alternative employment, one that won’t require him to harm others: Becoming his kept man.“This isn’t an offer I make often, so you should be flattered – count yourself lucky, even – that I am extending you this rare opportunity.”“To be raped repeatedly?”“To have a second chance to work off your debts after you failed so spectacularly the first time. But I don’t have to. I could just use these knives I’ve brought along, carve up that pretty face of yours like a Thankgiving turkey, which would be a shame, really. Then I suppose I’d have to pay a visit to your little friend. This entire exercise has been a waste of my valuable time… perhaps I’ll take an arm for my trouble,” he muses. “So, tell me, Rogers, is Barnes right- or left-handed?”It’s an offer Steve can’t refuse.For the Cap-IronMan Bingo 2019 Round 2 – Alliances and Cliques.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 56
Kudos: 314
Collections: Captain America/Iron Man Bingo





	A Pound of Flesh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [One and Five Nines (Obani)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obani/gifts).



> I’m still working on the conclusion of “Pillow Talk” and a new Identity Porn fic tentatively titled “Stranded with the Enemy” based on the movie “Enemy Mine” that’s half-finished, but I just had to get this out of my brain. This is inspired by One and Five Nines (Obani)’s art for their BDSM AU “Ceteris Disparibus” showing Pepper training Steve for Tony. If you enjoy darkfic with bottom Steve, you should check out their comics, “Almost Perfect” and “Eventually” on AO3. 
> 
> Again, please read the tags. This isn’t a romance. Tony is very dark in this. He is completely ruthless, having murdered many of his maternal relatives to gain leadership of the Carbonell crime family. (In the comics, Tony’s mother’s maiden name is Carbonell.) In such a patriarchal environment as the mafia, inheritance doesn’t normally pass through the matrilineal line. Tony had to earn his place the hard way, and as such, he is a merciless Grade-A asshole used to taking what he wants with no consideration of anyone else. So, he coerces Steve into a sexual relationship and gets off on the control he has over him. Though he does try to ease Steve’s situation a little, it’s mostly for his own benefit. He is not a good person, and doesn’t magically become one upon repeated contact with Steve’s asshole. If you are expecting Tony to change his stripes through the power of love, then this isn’t the fic for you.

“What have you done, Stevie?” Bucky looks out into the street, where a sleek black car awaits, containing two Carbonell goons he recognizes from his earlier dealings with the Mafia. The one leaning up against the side of the car, a sharpshooter named Clint, checks his watch, tapping its face impatiently as they wait.

“I did what I had to,” Steve replies, reaching for his coat.

“You didn’t have to do shit. I took out the loan; it’s my debt, my burden.”

“The loan you took out to pay for Mom’s cancer treatments? You mean that loan?” he unlocks the door. Bucky pauses, saying nothing. “Yeah, you think I don’t know where you got the money? This isn’t your problem.”

In the end, the chemotherapy and radiation had failed. Sarah Rogers had died, but that didn’t erase the provenance of the money that had funded her treatment. Someone had to pay, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be his best friend.

Unfortunately, Bucky hadn’t gotten the memo. “It was my decision to go to them. You shouldn’t have to–”

“You disappear, and what happens to your sisters?” Steve points out, stepping out of the Barnes’s home where he had been staying since his mother’s death. He heads out into the crisp night air, issuing a final warning over his shoulder: “I’m going; don’t follow me.”

When he approaches the vehicle, Clint pushes off the side and admonishes him, “Hey new guy, you’re late.”

Steve checks his watch. “According to this, I’m right on time.”

“’On time’ is five minutes late,” the man insists, sliding into the back seat and closing the door behind him.

With Happy behind the wheel, Steve climbs into the passenger side in front of Clint. “I’ll make a note of that for the future.”

“Be sure that you do,” Clint knocks the back of the driver’s seat, drawing his partner’s attention. “Now, come on, we have to see a man about a fish.”

* * *

The ‘fish’ turns out to be Ferdinand Delmar, the owner of a small deli that had fallen behind on his protection payments. Happy and Clint had been tasked with delivering some bottles of consolation liquor… complete with a lit soaked rag peeking out the top and thrown through the front window of course. They then drive around, collecting payments, calling in loans, threatening people who can’t pay the exorbitant interest rates on said loans.

It’s mostly Clint and Happy providing the muscle. Steve is there to observe, to learn the ropes now that he is a fully-inducted member of their organization. He still doesn’t like it – the scare tactics, the bullying and extortion – but this is what he agreed to do when he took on Bucky’s debt. It was either that or let his friend learn firsthand what happens to people who owe money to the Carbonell crime family and can’t pay.

Like the poor sap strapped to a chair, being worked over by Happy. The enforcer must have been a boxer at some point.

“Don’t you think he’s had enough?” Steve interrupts from his corner. He knows he’s being stupid, but he can’t just sit back and watch a man get beaten to death, especially not when it could just as easily be Bucky in that position had Steve not intervened.

“The new guy’s probably right,” Clint holds up a hand to stay Happy’s fists. “We should wrap this up anyway. Laura wants me to pick up some milk on the way home, so that’s going to add at least thirty minutes to my commute.”

Blood running down his face and dripping from his chin, the man begins to sniffle and beg when Clint hands Steve the gun.

“…Shouldn’t we give him more time?” Steve tries to reason. “If he’s dead, you won’t get your money.”

Clint shrugs. “He’s exhausted all his extensions. He’s tapped out, and you know what they say: You can’t squeeze blood from a stone, but you can bury it where no one’s the wiser,” he pushes Steve forward. “Helps if the stone ain’t moving when you do.”

The man is still pleading, looking up at his reluctant executioner with the one good eye that has yet to puff over.

Steve opens the barrel to count the number of bullets. Six. Full chamber. He snaps it closed, and the man is bawling now, certain his fate is sealed.

Happy grows impatient. “Come on, kid. Clint’s too pussy-whipped to tell his wife to get the milk herself.”

“Says the ineptly-named single man,” Clint counters, palming the other man’s shoulder in mock pity. “Tell me, _Happy_ , how are those speed-dating events working out for you?”

Having made up his mind, Steve curses then spins, pointing the gun at Clint much to the man’s surprise. He backs up towards their victim, eyes trained on the Carbonell associates frozen before him.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Happy cautions, shutting up when Steve swivels the gun to him.

“Too late,” Clint quips, but he keeps his hands up when the gun is once again pointed in his direction. “You’re making a big mistake, new guy.”

“Yeah, probably,” Steve fumbles one-handed with the man’s restraints, managing to loosen one enough to free a hand. Their would-be victim mumbles his thanks as he loosens the rest, stumbling out of the chair. “But I don’t like bullies.”

The man limps away, nearly tripping over his feet, but Steve doesn’t even look in his direction, too busy with the two still standing in front of him.

Happy is the first to speak, drawing both Steve’s attention and his gun. “Look, kid. You haven’t done anything permanent yet. We can still tal–”

Clint rushes Steve, dodging the swipe of his weapon to tackle him, sending the gun flying. Steve flips him over, his legs wrapped over Clint’s lower body and arms locked in a choke hold, but Happy is on him now, forcing him to roll, using Clint as a human shield before letting him go with an arm twisted to overextension and functionally useless. Clint screams, but Steve has already moved on to deal with Happy.

Ultimately, though Steve has always been a competent fighter, he’s no match for two seasoned enforcers used to working so close together. Even with Clint’s bum arm, they manage to pin and beat him into submission before restraining him to be transported back to the Carbonell compound.

After holding him down for a blood draw, Steve is thrown into what looks like a soundproof basement cell where he is left with a bucket and gallon jug of water, ostensibly until they can determine an appropriate punishment. Those first couple hours, after the adrenaline rush has died down, Steve is on pins and needles, nervous about his (likely) impending death. However, when what feels like an entire day passes with no visitors, food, nor an additional source of water, he wonders if they intend to just leave him to slowly die of dehydration. He tries to ration his remaining water, watching the dwindling reserves and wondering what will happen when he’s out.

He’s curled up in a corner, busy with thoughts of his own mortality, when his cell opens to reveal three guards, who roughly manhandle him to his feet and out, ushering him into a more-surgical room. They strap him, cursing and struggling, to a cot, locking him down with leather restraints latched over his wrists and ankles. Across the room stands a man looking sharp in an immaculate three piece suit clearly tailored to suit his frame. He’s humming a meandering tune as he idly lays out the contents of what looks to be a torture kit onto a rolling cart.

“Leave us,” he orders.

“Sir, it wouldn’t be wise to be without protection,” one of the guards advises him as they fasten the last restraint. Steve spits on him, earning a well-deserved slap for his efforts.

“Do not damage the merchandise,” the man commands sharply, causing the guard to still, fear apparent in his eyes. “Now leave us. I will not tell you a third time.”

When they are alone, the man unbuttons his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves as he approaches Steve with an appraising gaze. He cups Steve’s chin, turning his face to the side to view any bruising left by the guard. “Your pictures don’t do you justice. You are quite the looker, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve jerks his face away, turning to eye the various implements, sharp and gleaming in the fluorescent lighting. “What are you going to do to me?”

The man’s smile resembles that of a Cheshire cat, wide and toothy and just as dangerous as anything he has laid out on the table. “That depends wholly on you, my good man.” He pats Steve’s cheek, running his hands downward to feel up his broad chest.

“…Meaning?”

He turns away from Steve, picking up each of his tools in turn – a scalpel, a tri-blade knife, a flaying contraption – holding them up to the light, simultaneously inspecting their cleanliness and putting Steve on edge.

“Your friend, James Barnes was it? He owes me a lot of money, and I was generous enough to allow you to work it off,” he states, almost conversationally, and that’s when Steve knows he’s in the presence of Tony Stark, notorious head of the Carbonell crime family. _He is so fucked_ doesn’t even begin to cover the severity of his current circumstances.

Stark continues, “I didn’t have to, you know, but I thought… Steve Rogers is a good guy, right? Dependable. Reliable. I’m sure he’s good for it... but then you went back on our arrangement. I can’t have that, you understand. People see that they can get out of a deal just like that–” he snaps “–and then everyone tries to walk all over me. Chaos. Complete pandemonium. So, I have to make an example of the few willing to cross me, to keep the masses in line.”

Steve pulls more frantically on his restraints, finding them predictably secure. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh but I do,” Stark turns back to face him, his eyes roving over Steve’s body before fixing on his face. “Unless… we can come to another arrangement, one you may find easier to swallow, so to speak. You wouldn’t be an enforcer – you clearly don’t have the stomach for it – but there is one other position you happen to be perfect for.”

Steve doesn’t trust the predatory way the other man is looking at him. “Which is?”

Stark strokes Steve’s arm suggestively, his fingers gracing lightly across his skin, making his flesh crawl. “It gets lonely at the top. Sometimes… sometimes I require a little companionship.”

“You mean sex.” Steve has never been one for euphemism and innuendo. He prefers to meet his challenges head on. “You want me to be your what? Your sex slave?”

“The preferred term is ‘kept man,’” Stark corrects him while confirming Steve’s suspicions. “Have you ever done anything like this before?”

“What? Prostituted myself?” he snarls.

“Been fucked by a man. You can be honest.”

Would it be better or worse if he had? Steve has no idea, so he settles on the truth. “…Yes.”

“Then this will be nothing you haven’t done before.”

“It’s not… This will be different!”

“You’re probably right. I can guarantee you’ve never been with a man like me.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Would you prefer my original plan for you?” Stark cants his head towards the collection of knives laid out, pristine and terrifying. “It’s still an option; you just say the word, honey.”

“…For how long?” Steve can’t believe he’s actually considering this. He can’t. There’s no way–

Stark chuckles darkly. “You fail to grasp the gravity of the situation in which you find yourself. It’s kind of cute. You owe me, sweet cheeks, and I plan to collect my pound of flesh, one way or another.” He caresses Steve’s face, his thumb softly worrying the other man’s bottom lip, before Steve turns sharply and leans as far away as he can get from his touch. “You should know it doesn’t have to be what you’re thinking. I’m not a sadist in the bedroom. I can be a generous man, downright sweet to you. This isn’t an offer I make often, so you should be flattered – count yourself lucky, even – that I am extending you this rare opportunity.”

“To be raped repeatedly?”

“To have a second chance to work off your debts after you failed so spectacularly the first time. But I don’t have to. I could just use these knives I’ve brought along, carve up that pretty face of yours like a Thankgiving turkey, which would be a shame, really. Then I suppose I’d have to pay a visit to your little friend. This entire exercise has been a waste of my valuable time… perhaps I’ll take an arm for my trouble,” he muses. “So, tell me, Rogers, is Barnes right- or left-handed?”

“How long would this… arrangement last?” Steve asks instead.

“Until I say your debt is paid.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You’ve got moxie, and I respect that, but I hold all the cards in this negotiation. Don’t even try to talk me down from my price; you’ve got nothing else I want,” Stark’s voice drops its playful edge as he quickly loses patience. “So what’s it going to be?”

Steve can’t…

But he must.

“If I agree, you won’t hurt Bucky?” he asks, seeking confirmation from the other man. If he’s going to do this, he needs certain assurances. “He’ll get a clean slate? No debts, even if… even if I– if I have trouble being exactly what you want?”

Stark’s face hardens. “You run or disobey me, and the deal is off.”

“I’m not going to run,” Steve says, a touch annoyed, “If I agree, I’ll do what you ask, but what if– what if I can’t please you? I– I’ve never… not like this.” All the sex he has ever had has been consensual. Could he even–

Stark reaches over once again to rub a toned bicep. Steve doesn’t shy away this time. “You’ll learn. You’ll even come to enjoy it in time,” he assures him.

 _Doubtful,_ but– “If I can’t live up to your standards, are you going to discard me and come after Bucky anyway?”

“He must be some friend, this Barnes fellow, for you to go to such lengths to protect him.”

“Will you?”

“I won’t. You do this, obey me to the best of your ability, and Barnes is free.”

“Swear it?”

“You have my word.”

Steve doesn’t trust him, not entirely anyway, but what choice does he have? “Then alright.”

Stark frees him of his restraints, unlocking his wrists and ankles, and allowing Steve to sit up. However, he doesn’t let him off the cot as he starts to unbutton his top.

Steve grasps his wrist. “Wait… Now?”

Stark gives him a look, prompting Steve to let go, to allow him to continue. He discards Steve’s shirt, going to work on his pants next. “Why not? You belong to me. I’ve wanted this ass since first I laid eyes on it, and there’s no time like the present.”

“But–” Steve isn’t ready. He hasn’t come to terms with his new role. Perhaps with a little time…

Stark pauses, his tone growing dangerous, “Are you backing out?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Off come Steve’s pants along with his underwear, and now Stark is working on his own clothing, but instead of fully undressing, he chooses to simply undo his pants, pulling out his dick through the front flap of his underwear. Standing naked, his hands cupped over his own flaccid member, Steve isn’t sure whether Stark’s lack of nudity is better or worse.

Not wasting any time, the man bends him over the edge of the cot to massage the globes of his ass, squeezing and pulling them apart to reveal his tight pucker. Steve starts to quake with fear, and Stark’s thumb rubs a lazy circle into his hip to try to calm him, but it doesn’t work, so he gives up, reaching over to pull out a half-used tube of lube from his torture kit.

Steve doesn’t want to know why he stores it there, but he doesn’t have much time to consider the implications of the man’s organizational system before Stark is on him, his clothed body draped over Steve’s nude one, one hand holding him down by the back of his neck, pressing his cheek into the soft surface of the mattress. Stark is nipping at his shoulder, his tender throat, sucking a claiming mark into the smooth skin there as he breeches Steve, working to open him up with deft fingers. Steve knows what’s coming, and he nearly sobs when Stark withdraws his hand, and he feels a slick cockhead prodding at his entrance instead.

Steve shudders, trying to angle his head to look over his shoulder, but he’s kept in place by Stark’s firm grip on the back of his neck. “Do you… do you have a condom?”

“No need. I know you’re clean. I always review medical work-ups before taking out my knives. Blood play is slippery, and there’s always a chance I could cut myself in the process. With all the blood-borne diseases going around, one can’t be too careful these days,” Stark murmurs, laving the skin of Steve’s neck with his tongue.

Steve didn’t need to know that.

“I’d like one,” he tries again.

“And I wouldn’t,” Stark states with finality. And that’s the last word on that as he penetrates Steve, working his bare dick in slowly, almost tentatively.

The near-gentle pace does nothing to reassure the younger man. Grunting through the experience, he closes his eyes, bites his lip and tries not to cry. He’s much too tense due to fear and insufficient prep, but he doesn’t resist as Stark stakes his claim, as per the terms of their agreement.

“God, you’re so tight,” he can hear Stark mutter as he pushes through a particularly hard thrust, inspiring a sharp yelp and anguished whimper from Steve. Steve’s fingers scrabble across the thin cot as he shrivels inward.

Stark pauses momentarily, registering Steve’s obvious distress and discomfort, and for a moment, Steve thinks he’s done, but then the man resumes his pace with shallower thrusts, picking up speed and depth more gradually as his breath quickens. Steve prays to anything listening for it to be over, for Stark to turn out to be a minuteman or for him to be struck with sudden-onset erectile dysfunction, but no such luck. So he simply must endure until eventually, after what feels like an eternity, Stark crests with a low moan.

When it’s finally over, Steve curls up as small as he can on the cot, turned away from his rapist. He’s quiet as his shoulders shake and cum leaks from his hole, becoming tacky-dry between his thighs. He takes a moment to calm himself, then stands to woodenly go through the motions of getting re-dressed, but he still feels like Stark has flayed his skin, settled down deep in his bones, and now that Steve is putting himself back together, his skin is on wrong, like trying to stuff a sleeping bag into its original casing after heavy use. He’s filthy and suspects he will never be clean again. He flinches when he hears Stark speak.

“I’ll have security show you to your new room.”

If Steve didn’t know better, he might have thought Stark sounded disappointed.

* * *

Steve half-expects to be kept as Stark’s dirty little secret, locked away in his basement dungeon with a cot, maybe a bucket in the corner and no windows, the entire cell lit by fluorescent bulbs buzzing softly in the background. Or maybe the man is powerful enough to have no need to keep his homosexual inclinations under wraps. Perhaps Steve is destined for a harem where he and his fellow sex slaves are forced to jockey for the ignominious position as Stark’s bottom bitch. As the man’s newest acquisition, will Steve be forced to the bottom of the hooker hierarchy or will he be seen as the shiny new threat with a target plastered to his back daring the others to shank him?

God, is he about to get stabbed over the capo’s perceived favor?

Steve did _not_ sign up for this petty bullshit.

So imagine his surprise when the guards lead him to what is obviously an above-ground bedroom decked out in modern furniture with all the comforts of home. It’s also clearly single occupancy, with a large king-sized bed, chaise lounge, dresser and closet (empty for now but containing wooden hangers full of promise), and an attached bathroom. Against the far wall is a breakfast nook that looks out over the gardens where dinner – steak cooked to medium-rare perfection and pre-sliced with a side of scalloped potatoes and wilted spinach – is still hot and steaming, though strangely, only a single plastic spoon lies beside the pre-made plate.

If Steve had been hungry, he would have been able to make due, considering everything is cut into bite-sized pieces. But Steve isn’t hungry, so he leaves the meal untouched to be collected by whatever servants Stark has assigned to him, instead making use of the shower before fully dressing and curling up on one end of the expansive bed to not sleep.

* * *

In the morning, Steve has a visitor, a tall, slim woman with an easy smile and red hair tied back in a ponytail. She’s wearing a smart skirted business suit and carrying a large tote. Her eyes roam over their surroundings, clocking the breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon, which had long grown cold and rubbery by the window.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rogers,” She holds out her hand in greeting. “My name is Pepper. Pepper Potts.”

Steve accepts the handshake even as his eyes narrow in suspicion. “Why did Stark send you here?” If Mr. Stark thought he could gift him a lady-friend as a ploy to learn his secrets… it simply wasn’t going to work. Steve didn’t trust easily and certainly not the pretty ginger snitch sent by the enemy.

“I do anything and everything that Mr. Stark requires,” Pepper replies, and… wow, that is more honest than Steve had been expecting. At least Stark didn’t try to insult his intelligence by having her pretend to be anything other than a plant.

“And what does _Mr. Stark_ require?”

“A tutor of sorts. For you.”

He crosses his arms. “I have my associate’s degree. I was working on affording my bachelor’s in art history before this all went down,” and now Steve will never finish, will never be anything more than a mindless cocksleeve for a mob boss. “If Stark is looking for a better conversationalist… that’s never going to be me.” Providing the capo intellectual stimulation hadn’t been part of the deal, and Steve is trying to make his company less appealing to get out of his contract earlier, not more so. “I don’t see the need for a tutor.”

But Pepper remains cool and all-too-professional. “You misunderstand, Mr. Rogers. I am not here to tutor you on academics.” She unzips her tote, revealing a collection of lubes, anal plugs of various sizes, and one moderately-sized dildo of average length and generous girth.

Steve takes a step back. “…No.”

“Mr. Rogers–”

“No,” he repeats. “I agreed to become that man’s whore. He never said I’d be passed around to his associates like some sort of human party favor.”

She sighs, placing the open bag on the bed next to them and stepping away to grant him space. “It’s your choice. You can practice on yourself, and I can observe and instruct you separately, or I can use them on you and provide more… intimate feedback.”

Steve peers inside the tote to examine the contents then carefully selects the dildo. He rolls it in his palm, feeling it naturally settle to one side, weighted down by the realistic testicles at the base. Disturbingly, he recognizes the heft and shape of it, his skin crawling as a stone, heavy with dread, solidifies in his stomach.

“I can see this is familiar to you,” Pepper says gently. “It was cast in body-safe silicone from a mold of–”

“Don’t finish that sentence. I’d like a little plausible deniability here.”

“Of course, Mr. Rogers, and like I said, the choice is yours.”

“Not much of a choice, is it?”

“I suppose not,” she allows, waiting expectantly for Steve’s decision.

But he still hesitates. “Does he… do you have to do this often?”

“Not as much as you are probably thinking. Mr. Stark doesn’t often take interest in long-term projects.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say about that, so he says nothing, choosing instead to concentrate on the task at hand. He thumbs a particularly prominent vein running across the dorsal side of the dildo, thinking of the living model, and–

He can’t do it. He can’t feed a replica of Stark’s dick (and that is certainly what it is) into his own ass, pushing it inch by agonizing inch inside until the silicone balls sit flush against his backside, then sliding it in and out while Mr. Stark’s way-too-personal assistant watches and critiques… he doesn’t even know what. His form? The tightness in his body? How he’s already cringing too much for this to be pleasurable for either Mr. Stark or himself?

“I– I’m not sure I can do this,” he admits.

“Then let me.” Pepper takes the dildo, and Steve is proud of himself when his hands don’t shake. “If you could take off your pants and turn towards the mirror over there, we can get started, Mr. Rogers.”

“Steve,” he supplies, his tone defeated. “If we’re going to be doing this, you might as well call me Steve.”

“Of course, Steve; whatever will make you more comfortable,” Pepper says, her voice soothing and kind, almost therapeutic. Escape would help Steve feel more comfortable, but that’s clearly not an option. “Now, if you could please drop your pants, unless you require assistance…”

Steve unzips. He hadn’t even bothered to put his belt back on after…

He pushes the memory out of his mind as his hands clumsily complete their task.

“Lean forward and place your palms flat on either side of the mirror,” she instructs, praising him when he complies.

This is already so awkward, and it’s not Pepper’s fault – she likely doesn’t want to be here either – so he tries to lighten the mood. “You gonna tell me to turn my head and cough next?”

“If it would help. Are you into medical kink?”

“No, not really,” Steve admits, “Though usually I’d have to take a pretty dame like you out to dinner at least before we’d get to this point.”

“You are a funny one. That’s good,” she says, and Steve can see her smiling in the mirror. Perhaps if they can both laugh about this, Steve won’t cry. “Now, if you could spread your legs a little more… excellent. And remember to breathe… You’re doing so well, Steve.”

Steve flinches when he hears a cap snap open.

“It’s alright, Steve. It’s just some lube. I’m not going to make this hurt,” Pepper assures him. “It’s a little early for dinner, but after this, we can get breakfast. I see you haven’t touched the one that was sent. I could take down your food preferences for later–”

“That won’t be necessary. Just… Let’s just get this over with, okay?” he pleads. The sooner she opens him up, the sooner she can fuck him and be gone. Kindness is dangerous for someone in his position, more so than cruelty, because it can make him forget certain realties…

He must always remember that no one in this hellscape is a friend. It doesn’t matter how sweet they appear, how kind they present themselves to be, especially someone like Pepper Potts. If Stark is allowing her to train him, to fuck Steve alone outside his purview, she must have his utmost confidence. A man like that doesn’t bestow trust in just anyone, and Steve would do well not to forget it. He braces himself for the breech of slick fingers. He can do this; he can endure.

The fingers land on his back instead, stroking light but firm, up and down his spine. “It’s alright,” and her voice is soft like a down comforter as she shushes him. He didn’t even realize when the tears had started to fall, but his vision has gone blurry, and his cheeks are wet. “Everything is going to be alright.”

It’s a lie, but–

“Shhhh…” she whispers, as she guides him to stand and turn towards her and away from the mirror. She pulls his head to her shoulder and gathers him into her arms, rubbing circles into his back as he sobs. “It doesn’t have to be today, Steve. Just breathe, okay? Breathe… Nothing’s going to happen today. I can tell Mr. Stark… Well, I can tell him it’s my opinion that postponement will be beneficial for you.”

“He’s – he’s not going to listen.” Stark is selfish, unreasonable even. He won’t be pleased that Pepper is granting him a reprieve from his _lessons_.

“He’ll listen to me,” Pepper tells him as Steve retrieves his pants and pulls them up and on, zipping them closed once again.

He believes her, despite all evidence to the contrary.

But there’s still a niggle of doubt, clawing at the back of his mind, warning him of danger ahead. What if she’s wrong? _What if…_ “What if he sends someone else?” _someone less kind, less patient with Steve._

“He won’t,” she says, maintaining steady eye contact. “He trusts my judgment.”

“What are you to him, anyway?” Steve asks, rubbing the last remnants of tears from his eyes before crossing his arms. “His wife?” he hazards a guess.

Pepper laughs then, as if Steve had told a particularly good joke. “No, nothing of the sort. I’m his executive assistant. I inhabit many roles, but for you, I suppose I’m his… curator. I oversee many of his procurements, though generally it’s more artwork than…” Her eyes dart upward, and she rolls her hand in a tight circle, trying to come up with the correct word.

“Sex slave,” Steve supplies. “It’s just the two of us, you don’t have to sugar-coat it.”

“I was going to say ‘companion.’”

“Like I said, no need to sugar-coat anything. I know my place. I’m just trying to figure out yours.”

“Mr. Stark thought perhaps we’d find common ground, both of us having an appreciation for fine art and knowledge of its extensive history. I could arrange a tour of Mr. Stark’s private collection, pieces that I have assembled on his behalf throughout the years.”

He looks askance at her. “He’s assigning me a friend?”

“In a matter of speaking,” Pepper agrees, canting her head to one side. “I like you, Steve, but – and this goes without saying – my primary loyalty will always be to Mr. Stark. Please don’t ask me to help you escape or to bring him harm. You do that, and we’ll get along just fine.”

Steve supposes that’s fair. It’s not like he expected any different from her. “So… what happens next?”

“We can still have breakfast together, if you’re up for it?”

“…Okay. Why not?”

Pepper makes arrangements for two fresh omelets to be delivered to Steve’s room. She waits for him to tuck in with the provided silver spoon before primly enjoying her own plate.

Steve cuts the omelet with the edge of his spoon before scooping it to his mouth and chewing. “I have to ask. Why the spoons? Are you running low on cutlery or something?”

“Just a precaution, you understand,” Pepper replies, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’m also going to need that spoon back at the end of breakfast.”

Steve stills. Their omelets look exceptional, and probably taste just as good, but he barely notices. It might as well be wet newspaper.

* * *

Steve doesn’t see Stark, but Pepper returns for five days in a row. They talk, play cards, and she tells him of news occurring outside the four walls of his comfortable prison cell. She brings him books on a variety of topics as well as a sketchbook and set of charcoals and soft oil pastels (no pens or pencils for him to sharpen into potentially-deadly points). He draws the view from his window and people from his prior life: Sam and Nat and Bucky.

He draws Bucky a lot these days.

He wonders how he is doing, if he knows what happened to Steve. He hopes Bucky doesn’t blame himself or do anything stupid to make Steve’s sacrifice for naught (granted impulse control had always been more Steve’s problem than Bucky’s). Perhaps if Pepper is willing to post a letter for him, Steve could even tell him he’s doing well, that he is perfectly fine and warm and fed, that he isn’t in any danger.

You know. Lie.

But most of all he wants to let Bucky know that he should _not_ try to find him under any circumstances. They’ll see each other again someday, when his business with Stark has concluded (if it ever does).

“I don’t think that course of action is very wise,” Pepper says, trying to dissuade him.

“I’ll leave the letter unsealed. You can check its contents,” Steve pleads. “I just don’t want him to worry.”

She bites her bottom lip in consideration. “If you received a letter from Bucky telling you not to look for him, what would you do?”

_Okay, that’s fair._

* * *

By the sixth day, Pepper suggests they try their ‘training’ exercises again. Steve supposes Stark isn’t going to wait forever, but he still tenses up when she palms his naked ass as he bends over, hands pressed on either side of the mirror.

“It’s alright, Steve. It’s going to be okay,” she tries to placate him.

Steve can’t quite look at her fully-clothed reflection when he replies, “I know. It’s just… it’s kind of strange.”

“Just do what comes naturally. I want to see what we’re working with here.”

“There’s nothing about this that can be described as natural.”

“Please Steve,” she implores him, hand rubbing his hip in comfort. “Just try to breathe through it; it will get better with time, I promise.”

“Alright,” he breathes out slowly, his eyes drifting closed. “Alright, I’m going to try.”

“Thank you.”

When she works in the thinnest anal plug, not more than the diameter of a slim finger, Steve can almost tell himself this isn’t so bad. It’s still not ideal, of course – none of it is – but this is fine. He can do this.

However, by the time she graduates to the largest size anal plug, working him open slowly with firm but steady thrusts, Steve is groaning, arching his back at the feeling building low in his belly. To his immense shame, he also finds himself hard, which he had not thought possible considering the circumstances. He tells her as much through gasps.

“It’s normal. It’s a natural physiological response,” she says, not unkindly. She’s clearly not judging him. “Are you ready for the last upgrade?”

 _The dildo,_ Steve knows, _the one crafted after Stark’s image._

“Do… do I have a choice?” he manages, panting through waves of pleasure intermixed with shame. His fingers curl, digging into the dry wall on either side of the mirror.

“I can hold off for a little bit.”

“No… quicker we get through this, right?” Steve gasps before catching his breath once again. “Then– then we can play a round of poker or something.” They won’t, but it’s easier to pretend everything can go back to normal after they’re done (or whatever degree of normal is possible given his new status).

Pepper slides the dildo into place, applying a smooth, steady pressure on the base until the silicone balls sit snugly against his ass. “You’re doing so well, Steve,” she murmurs as he grunts, adjusting to the intrusion.

She starts to thrust once again, and Steve’s knees buckle slightly at the feeling. Under different circumstances, this might even be quite nice instead of incredibly invasive. The dildo stills.

“Are you okay, Steve? I can adjust the angle if it’s off,” Pepper offers.

“No… no, it’s– it’s fine. As good as it’s going to get,” but when she doesn’t move, Steve pushes back, allowing the dildo to slip in deeper. “Come on. The sooner we wrap this up, the sooner I can beat you at Texas Hold ‘em.”

Pepper pulls out to add more lube then resumes thrusting into Steve’s ass. “You can help yourself along, you know,” she instructs him. She holds out the lube. “Make yourself cum. It’s encouraged.”

Steve accepts the proffered bottle, mumbling his thanks as he coats his own hand and jerks off, pulling himself off just like he prefers as Pepper observes his movements. And when he shoots his load, hitting his own chest and abdomen then dripping to the floor, she thrusts through his orgasm until his dick is twitching and spent. Then, she slips out the dildo, allowing him to stand. His face is red, and he can’t quite meet her eyes when she hands him a towel to clean himself up.

“That was very good, Steve,” she praises him, even as she steps back to allow him his space.

“So… that’s it, huh?” He is never going to see her again now that he’s been ‘trained.’

Pepper almost sounds apologetic. “Not quite.”

* * *

“Steve, you’re going to have to look at me,” Pepper tells him a week later later, when they are preparing to have sex for the eighth time. She’s already wearing the strap-on over her leggings with the Stark dick locked in and ready to violate him. “Your facial expressions have improved–” he no longer looks pained when she works the dildo in and out of his ass nor does he cry… much “–but Mr. Stark expects eye contact.”

Steve stills just before dropping his pants. “How am I going to… I can’t even look _you_ in the eye anymore, and I actually like you just fine, despite… you know, all this. But Stark? Do I really have to look at _him_.”

“You have to understand. Mr. Stark… he would prefer you be comfortable here. He’s… Well, he can be reasonable, and if he likes you, trusts you, then he will afford you more privileges, more freedom, a little more leeway. You want to leave this room, you need him to like you,” she explains. “And that means you’re going to have to look at him when you’re being intimate.”

“When he’s raping me.”

Pepper flinches, and now it is her turn to look pained.

“Because that’s what this is. I meant what I said. I’m not going to sugarcoat what’s happening here,” Steve deadpans, having long passed feeling awkward around the woman.

“Steve…”

“Just… how many times, Pepper? How many times has he done this to someone? And what happens to them if they don’t comply?”

“You’re going to want him to like you,” she repeats, laying down on the chaise lounge, the dildo standing tall and proud. “Now please, Steve. Get up on here, and please try to look me in the eye this time.”

Steve follows her instructions, straddling her narrow hips as he lowers himself on the dildo.

* * *

It takes another week for Steve to get used to Pepper wearing the strap-on instead of just manually pumping the dildo into him.

Presently, she’s sitting up to weave her arms under his, reaching towards his front to brush over his sensitive nipples. He shudders and lets out an involuntary moan.

“That’s good, Steve,” she tells him as he continues to ride her reverse cowboy. “Now roll your hips… Arch your back. More… Yes, he’ll like that.”

“I– I don’t care what he likes,” Steve pants out, low and breathy. Pepper slips downward to wrap her hand around his dick and copies Steve’s masturbatory technique from memory, applying the right amount of pressure, pulling the foreskin up and down his shaft. “Oh, Jesus Christ! Fuck!” he cries out, collapsing forward, his body pliant like jelly.

Pepper simply hums, “You’re so sensitive. He’ll like that.”

“Stark…” he gasps, “can go to Hell.”

* * *

Much later, Steve is kneeling between Pepper’s thighs, stroking the strap-on between them. “I know how to suck cock,” he tells her, a touch indignant. He’d never gotten any complaints from prior partners.

“Yes, I’m sure you do, but I’m showing you how to please Mr. Stark specifically,” Pepper explains patiently. She taps her foot against his hip. “Now repeat what I showed you.”

Steve swirls his tongue around the tip, leaving generous amounts of saliva behind that he uses to manually stroke the base of the shaft. He swallows around the dildo, following the down stroke of his hand, using it as an extension of his mouth, and teases the head on the upswing, switching up the sensation by alternating between the tip of his tongue and the broad swipes of the top surface.

“Good… that’s good… Now, more tongue around the underside of the frenulum… vary your speed… yes, like that,” Pepper instructs, critiquing his technique. “And don’t forget eye contact,” she reminds him yet again, her foot once again tapping his hip to draw his attention and her fingers taking on a V-sign to point at his face than her own. His eyes dart up to meet her’s, and he resists the urge to wink. Earlier in their acquaintanceship, Steve might have felt ridiculous fellating a fake dick that brought neither of them any pleasure, but he is long past feeling embarrassed around the woman.

“You can take care of yourself, too,” she reminds him.

Steve obeys, his hand working over his own erection as he sucks down the dildo. He knows what she’s trying to do: Link his pleasure to the various sex acts they pantomime, hoping it will spill over into prime time with Stark. Perhaps if Stark allows him to close his eyes, pretend he is somewhere else with someone else, it might even be successful.

At any rate, Steve senses he and Pepper are coming to the end of their time together. Though Stark hadn’t struck him as a patient man, it has been a month already. It’s unlikely he will wait much longer to have his prize. If Steve is destined to never see Pepper again…

There is something bothering him, something he had been meaning to ask her since their first day together.

“Pepper?” Steve asks after they have completed their session, and she has cleaned and disinfected the dildo. She is currently elbow deep in her tote, rearranging the sex toys so they don’t bulge out too much from the sides preventing her from closing the bag.

“Hm?”

“How do you know so much about what Stark likes?”

Pepper stills, then turns to face him, regarding him with a curious expression. “…I was wondering when you were going to ask me that.”

“You aren’t his wife, but are you like his girlfriend, or…” _Or are you like me?_ Is she a reflection of his own future, still forced into sexual servitude long after Stark has grown weary of her charms?

She sighs. “Mr. Stark… Tony and I used to date, but that was a very, very long time ago, back before he got deep into the family business,” she says, her tone carefully even. “We just stopped working as a couple.” She’s back to fussing with the sex toys, taking them out and putting them back in a different order, hoping for a different result. “We were always better as friends anyway.”

Steve is surprised. He hadn’t thought she was his _ex_ -girlfriend, ostensibly free to come and go, but if that is the case… “Then why do you stay?”

Pepper shrugs, not quite looking at him. “When Tony… when he took control of the syndicate, he needed someone he could trust who could handle the more people-facing side of the business and discretely tell him when a deal is no good or if he is acting unreasonably. He needed– needs me. It had been years since we… but he still needed me, so I agreed to come on board and assist him. I didn’t think…” she finally zips up the tote, “Well, I’m sure there are a lot of things I would have done differently back then had I known how things were going to pan out.”

“And when he asks you to– to train us, how does that make you feel?”

She turns to face him, at the very least having the decency to look at him. Full eye contact even, just like she always taught him. “He didn’t ask, Steve. I volunteered.”

“…What?”

“You aren’t the first he’s… taken as a companion, but you are the first I’ve taken under my wing. The others… they didn’t last, and then he’d eventually replace them with others that also…” She shakes her head, dropping her gaze, and Steve is uncertain whether she is more horrified with Stark’s actions or her own, “so I thought maybe, maybe if I could help you endure, he’d stop at you.”

“So you’re enabling him?” Steve seethes, his voice dripping with betrayal. He already knew where Pepper’s loyalties lie, knew since the beginning, but still– “You ensure that I’m what? Complacent with just enough hope that things can get better so I won’t kill myself or force him to kill me and find another victim?”

“I’m sorry, Steve. I just wanted to help. You– it doesn’t have to be a terrible life. You can get what you need from him if you know how to ask–”

“I _need_ to leave.”

“That’s not possible.”

“There’s nothing else I want.”

Pepper steps in close. “Listen, Steve,” she cups his face in both hands, angling him downwards so he can see the sincerity in her eyes. “I’m just saying if you ever find yourself in a situation where you need something from Tony, you must ask him in such a way that doesn’t challenge his dominance. His position is tenuous at best – he’s only a Carbonell through his mother, and his father wasn’t even Italian – so he will do anything to maintain the illusion of power over his men, even things he would rather not do. If you need something from him, something really important, especially if you have to ask in front of other people, you must phrase it in such a way that allows him to grant your request while still saving face.”

He shakes her off, taking a half-step back to collect himself. “And how will I do that?”

“I know this goes against every instinct in your body, but don’t challenge him head on. He would prefer you not to be miserable. There’s power in that; you can use it. So you give him an out, some maneuvering room to make you happy while not degrading his position, and he’ll be more inclined to do what you ask.”

“…I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good luck, Steve.”

* * *

Either Stark is finally done waiting or Pepper must deem him ready, because Steve is summoned to the boss’s personal quarters on the compound not too long after. With a large bed piled high with satin sheets and a luxe billowy comforter with too many matching pillows, a streamlined entertainment system, and floor-to-ceiling bulletproof windows, it’s the most luxurious room in which Steve has ever stepped foot.

And he has no illusions as to what services he is expected to render.

“Scotch?” Stark pours two fingers in each tumbler and holds one out to Steve.

Steve accepts. He’s not sure he wants to be completely sober for this. Correction: He knows he doesn’t. He knocks back the entire thing in one swing, pulling a face after he quickly swallows.

“Ah, to be young again… I, too, once attended college, but this is not bottom-shelf vodka liable to burn your palate. Scotch this refined should be savored,” Stark subtly reprimands him, but he pours him a second glass nonetheless.

Steve knocks back the second just as quickly, feeling the warm fuzz deep in his belly and clouding his mind. “I’ve never been a fan of parties, but these days I can understand wanting to get drunk as fast as possible,” he carefully replaces his glass on the bar and meets Stark’s eye, ignoring the other man’s frown of disapproval. “I know I’m not here to be your drinking buddy, so if we could get started…” Perhaps Steve will have the time to squeeze in a shower or six after this is over.

Though he had barely sipped his own drink, Stark puts down his glass as well. “As you wish.”

Steve snorts – they wouldn’t be doing this at all if he had his way – but he starts to undo the buttons of his shirt all the same, fumbling the motion due to his trembling fingers. He lightly curses under his breath when they fail to come apart.

“Allow me,” Stark says, stepping into Steve’s personal space and reaching for the buttons himself, expertly undoing them and splaying his fingers out to push his shirt back and off his shoulders. Unlike the first time, Steve doesn’t shrink away, and Stark hums his approval.

When both are nude, they tumble into bed in a tangle of limbs, their mouths roaming over hot skin. Steve implements the lessons he had learned from Pepper. He pushes Stark onto his back and climbs on top, fucking himself on Stark’s cock in a rolling motion, while arching his spine and meeting his eyes with a coquettish smile. Stark’s pupils are blown wide as he props himself up on his elbows to suck Steve’s nipples, his hand wrapping around Steve’s dick between their bodies, stroking it up and down, touching him at the pressure and speed Steve prefers. That’s when Steve realizes he is not the only one Pepper had been tutoring.

“You like that, honey?” Stark mumbles against Steve’s chest. “You like my thick cock stretching you out, making you all sloppy and loose?” He reaches around to dip a finger in the prodigious slick slipping out of Steve’s hole stretched taut around his dick, liberally coating the digit. “Or are you used to it by now?” he strokes Steve’s sensitive rim, his fingertip pressing against it slightly, threatening to penetrate him. “I can give you more.” He plunges it in alongside his dick.

“Ngh,” Steve whinges in pain, his own fingers tightening reflexively, clawing Stark’s back, earning a sharp grunt from the man.

“Are you telling me no?” Stark lines up a second finger, massaging the outside rim alongside the first.

Steve pants but he doesn’t dare move away. “…N–no,” he manages, face red and sweat plastering his hair to his forehead.

Stark removes both fingers, wiping the excess on Steve’s hip and patting him soothingly on the ass. “Good.” Then he sits up on his haunches, spilling Steve onto his back and raising his hips up so he can thrust into him at his own pace, while jerking off the cock bobbing between them, until both are spent.

* * *

Stark takes him every other day or so, sometimes summoning Steve to his bed for an entire long weekend if he’s had a particularly trying week. Steve quickly learns to not antagonize him when he’s in one of his moods.

Mostly, it’s awful. Steve pushes back, grinds against the other man, fakes his moans and soft cries… anything to help hurry Stark’s orgasm along, to make him cum and make it stop, but sometimes…

Sometimes, it’s not so bad, and that is worse in a way. Sometimes (more often than he’d like to admit), Steve feels pleasure even as he’s plagued by a deep sense of shame that he could even get off to his own violation. When Stark’s cock brushes against his prostate and he bites tenderly on a sensitive nipple or at the hollow of Steve’s neck, a shivering wave of pleasure slithers in unwanted, snaking its way between Steve’s insides, followed shortly by overwhelming humiliation. Sometimes, he even cries after, and Stark licks away the salty-sweet tears from his cheeks and holds him close in a sick parody of tenderness.

“Not tonight,” Steve begs while standing before his captor, two days after he had managed to fall asleep in the viper’s den for the very first time, distressed he had grown so accustomed to Stark’s bed.

“I’ll make you cum,” Stark promises him, already dropping his pants to reveal his erection that he then rubs against Steve’s hip. He traces the other man’s hardening dick through the material of his clothing and murmurs, “Hm… someone’s interested despite his protests.”

And Steve can’t say no – that is part of the deal – so he says nothing as Stark divests him of his clothes, lays him down, and parts his cheeks to thumb at his tight hole. Despite his training, Steve squeezes his eyes shut as Stark fills him up once again, first with his cock and then his cum, the latter leaking white onto his thighs when he pulls out the former.

“Can I… I’d like a shower,” Steve states. He feels dirty, with Stark’s release dripping out of him to stain the sheets below and his own plastered across his stomach.

“Use mine,” Stark offers, lazily waving in the general direction of his private master bathroom. “There are extra towels in the linen closet. Use as many as you’d like.”

Steve stands under the generous spray, the filth swirling down the drain, running clear long before he exits the shower. He dresses then uses fifteen of the fluffy white towels to line the generously-sized bathtub so he can lie down and delay his exit just a little longer.

“What are you doing?” Stark asks him an hour later when he discovers Steve curled up within the confines of the tub.

Despondent, Steve peeks out from under the arm thrown over his face to meet the man’s unreadable expression. “…Towel fort.”

* * *

Despite having ‘graduated’ from training, Steve still sees Pepper from time to time. They no longer have sex, but she accompanies him on rare outings to theatrical productions or private wine tastings – all while tailed by Carbonell muscle for protection or to prevent escape, Steve is uncertain – and shows him Stark’s private art collection, occasionally asking his opinion on new acquisitions. Stark (or rather Pepper) has good taste.

“And how are things, Steve?” she often asks. _Are you happy?_

“Oh, you know… same,” Steve replies. _No._

It’s both a lie and not. Steve isn’t happy, but his general mood is improving, God help him. He might be growing accustomed to this life even as he internally rebels against it. He doesn’t _want_ to get used to this– this new status quo, but perhaps it speaks to the adaptability of the human spirit that he does. Eventually. He is not happy, but he’s also not so acutely miserable as he had been.

Stark moans as Steve rides him, Steve’s orgasm building alongside his captor’s. Steve pushes him down, covering the man’s torso with his own, kissing him desperately as his eyes drift closed. He knows where he is and who he’s with; there’s no escaping that knowledge, but such conditions aren’t as awful as they once seemed.

Stark flips them over, gripping Steve’s hips to roll into him, enthusiastically thrusting inside, brushing against Steve’s prostate and sending ripples of pleasure through him. Steve isn’t quiet, loudly broadcasting his enjoyment, further encouraging Stark for more, to go faster, fuck him harder, until it’s over and both are spent.

In the quiet aftermath, Stark cards his fingers through Steve’s hair and tenderly caresses the bruises he had sucked into the milky skin of his neck and along his collar. Steve hisses at the contact but doesn’t move away.

“You’re so good to me, honey,” Stark murmurs softly.

Steve doesn’t make a sound. He only looks away, staring at nothing.

* * *

Stark seems unaccountably excited, even as he tries to hide it. “I got you a little something,” he says, passing Steve a hunter green box with a small crown embossed in bottom center of the lid.

Steve flips it open, revealing a brand-new, far-too-gaudy-for-his-tastes Rolex.

“Do you like it, honey?”

He closes the box. “It’s nice. Thank you.” Steve is already mentally making space for it in his dresser, alongside the opulent ruby and gold cufflinks and matching tie clip as well as the more understated platinum set Stark had already gifted him.

“You should try it on,” Stark hints, the smile slipping from his features.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll just save it for a special occasion.” Steve prefers his beat-up Casio anyways. It’s water-resistant, digital, and not to mention durable, having lasted years. What more could a man want?

“Why don’t you ever wear anything I get for you?”

“Everything you get for me is so… expensive. I don’t want to worry about scratching up what probably amounts to a year’s rent hanging off my arm.”

“Why not? If you damage it, I’ll just get you another one,” Stark waves off Steve’s concern, as if the expense meant nothing to him, and it probably didn’t. “In fact, why don’t you tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you.”

“You already know what I want, and it won’t cost you a dime.”

“This again?”

“You did ask.”

Stark’s brows draw together in the middle as his face takes on a distinctive frown. “You don’t have to worry about anything: money, housing, clothing, the finer things in life. Anything you need, anything you want, it’s yours. I give you everything–”

“Everything except what I really want,” Steve counters.

“…Some people would appreciate the luxury of a gilded cage.”

“Then why don’t you find yourself one of those people? Why do you even bother with someone who doesn’t want what you’re willing to provide?”

“Because I want you.”

“Yes, and that always trumps what I want.”

Stark gets into his face, hooking a hand around Steve’s shoulders to squeeze the back of his neck and yank him down to his level. “Don’t test me, baby. I don’t want to bruise that pretty face, but I will if you keep mouthing off,” He furiously unbuckles his belt with his free hand. “Or maybe I can give your mouth something better to do. How would you like that?”

“Go ahead,” Steve challenges him, defiant to the last. “It doesn’t matter; today, tomorrow, you’re going to rape me again anyway.”

Stark lets go before backhanding him hard across his face. “You need to learn your place,” he hisses, low and deadly.

Steve coughs, running his tongue over the teeth on his damaged side, ensuring that none have loosened or chipped. “At your feet, sucking your cock?”

Stark grips Steve’s shoulder, roughly pulling him close once again. His face is near enough that Steve can feel puffs of breath against his cheek. “You ungrateful little… I know where you come from, Steve. You think I didn’t look into you: An orphan with barely two nickels to rub together. Father ran off before birth; mother dead not too long ago. No other family to speak of. No one to miss you, except the ‘friend’ who got you into this mess.”

“You leave him out of this!”

Stark shakes him. “No one cares about you like I do, not even Bucky. The man sold you up-river first chance he got after your mother passed. You want to know how much you were worth to him, Steve? How much he sold you for? $150,000, and frankly, it was a bargain to me, mere chump change. That’s a fraction of what I pay just in personal security. I probably spent more than that last year on wine alone.”

 _That rich bastard._ What did he know of struggle? Of love and sacrifice? Who was he to tell Steve that Bucky didn’t care about him when he took such a risk to save his mother? He had simply gambled on a cure, and unfortunately, everyone had lost: his mother, Bucky, Steve himself.

The House always wins; the man with the fat bank account always wins.

“He didn’t sell me!” Steve remains ever defiant. “I took on the debt myself; it was my decision!”

Stark scoffs at the other man’s sentimental stupidity, “That’s what he wanted you to think, and you were dumb enough to fall for it. What sob story did he tell you anyway? That the bank was going to foreclose on the house and put all of you on the street? That his little sisters – Janie, Becky, and Annie – were going to have to do something unsavory to keep a roof over all your heads?”

“The money was for me, you Goddamn asshole! He took it out for me! But she died anyway!” Steve twists out of Stark’s grip, and maybe it is surprise that loosens the capo’s fingers enough to let him go. He backs up, out of arm’s reach, but Stark doesn’t follow.

“And now look where it’s got you,” he says instead, his tone hard, cruel.

Steve regards him warily. “Yeah, you think I don’t know?”

* * *

Stark doesn’t summon him that or the following night, but he shows up on the third day carefully handling a suspiciously-familiar painting with white conservator’s gloves.

“What the hell?” Steve sputters. “Is that… no. That can’t be the original.”

“Pepper says you’re a fan of post-Impressionism,” he replies by way of explanation, as if that made any of this okay.

“Can you ever manage to _not_ do anything horrible for five minutes?” Steve had only ever seen a few select Van Gogh paintings at the MoMA, including the famous _The Starry Night_ , but no one has seen _View of the Sea at Scheveningen_ since its theft the prior decade from the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam.

Stark sounds disappointed, even as he brings the painting closer for Steve’s inspection. “What? You don’t like?”

“No! That should be in a museum!” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose between closed eyes. “It was in a museum.” He peers over at the painting, appreciating the artist’s furiously bold brushstrokes in his signature style though the colors are of a more muted palette indicative of his earlier period. He still can’t believe he’s standing so close to an authentic Van Gogh and is absolutely furious he can’t appreciate the experience. It’s simply another in the long line of things Stark has ruined for him.

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t steal it; I simply purchased it.”

“Oh, so you only fund art theft.”

“Exactly,” Stark is glad they can come to an understanding. “But if it upsets you that much, you don’t have to keep it.”

* * *

Steve has been with the Carbonell crime family for six months by the time he sees Bucky again. He just wishes their reunion had been under better circumstances.

“I was thinking we could go to Amsterdam this spring to see the tulips,” Stark suggests over lunch enjoyed on the terrace.

He had been floating ideas for different outings past Steve with more frequency as of late, but Steve turns down every one, and this is no exception. “If that’s what you want, then I guess it’s a done deal.”

“You’ve been cooped up here for so long; I thought a change of scenery might please you.”

Steve shrugs, messily unwrapping the prosciutto from his cantaloupe with a fork to eat the melon alone, much to Stark’s displeasure. “If I could go back to my old neighborhood–”

“You know that isn’t possible.”

Nothing Steve wants is ever possible.

Just then, Happy approaches Stark’s elbow. “Sir–”

“I said I did not want to be disturbed. I am having lunch with Steve,” Stark bites out, his annoyance with Steve’s subtle insubordination spilling over to prompt an outsized reaction to Happy’s small interruption.

“I understand, but sir… there was a… disturbance, and we caught the intruder,” he says, as two additional goons step up, roughly restraining a struggling trespasser between them.

The man stills. “Stevie?”

“Bucky?” Steve drops his fork, startling when it clatters against his plate in the ensuing silence.

Happy continues his explanation, “He had thrown a rug over the barbed wire and climbed the fence, then took out poor Scotty and Mikey, almost making it to the inner perimeter before he was discovered. He also had these,” he lays out a couple handguns on the table, the removed bullets rolling loose to settle against the barrel.

Stark’s expression is unreadable as he scoots his chair away from the table then turns to face Steve’s best friend. He leans forward, elbow resting casually over the back of his chair. “Mr. Barnes, I believe our business concluded months ago. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m here for Stevie.”

“So, you’re here to steal what’s mine,” Stark crosses his arms and rubs his goatee in thought. “You know what they do to thieves in Saudi Arabia?”

The men holding Bucky push him forward, slamming both hands and his cheek on the table, his face turned towards Stark. Steve jumps back in his seat.

Stark leans in, his hand inching towards his steak knife. “Tell me, Mr. Barnes. Are you right- or left-handed?”

_If you need something from him, something really important–_

“Stark…” Steve says, but the man doesn’t so much as spare him a glance.

_He would prefer you not to be miserable. There’s power in that–_

“Tony,” he tries again. “Tony, please.”

The name draws his attention. “What is it, honey?”

Bucky stills, surprised at the pet name.

_Give him an out–_

Steve knows how this would normally play out. If he demands Bucky’s freedom, challenges Stark in front of his men, then he can expect not only a black eye, but a bullet lodged in Bucky’s head for his troubles, because in some twisted way, that is Stark’s version of mercy: a quick death instead of the dismemberment he threatens.

What Steve needs is more time. He requires privacy – just him and Stark alone together – to issue his request, far away from the eyes and ears of his men. So, as much as it pains him, Steve affects indifference over Bucky’s fate, pinning the primary cause of his protestation on the interruption itself rather than the identity of their interloper.

“You promised we would have lunch together, just the two of us. No business at the table.” He reaches over to cover Stark’s hand with his own, his thumb circling over the back of Stark’s in a way that speaks of fondness and intimacy that had never been a hallmark of their relationship previously.

Stark lets go of the knife. He blinks in understated surprise then his face smoothes out into one of placation. “Of course; I apologize, darling. Sometimes I forget myself,” he pats their joined hands with his free one before issuing final orders as to Bucky’s fate. “Put him in Cell Block A. I’ll deal with him later.”

“But sir–”

“Did I stutter?” His tone regains its dangerous edge.

“No, sir.”

“Then do as I say.”

* * *

“Please Tony; please don’t hurt Bucky,” Steve pleads later, once they have retired to Stark’s private quarters. “We haven’t spoken in months. He had no idea what happened to me and only wanted answers.” And maybe a little payback, but now is not the time to wax poetic about the finer details of missing loved ones and vigilante justice.

“He broke in and injured a couple of my men. I can’t just let him walk. There have to be consequences. Anything less demonstrates weakness.”

“He’s the only family I have left. The only reason I…” He turns away, unable to finish that sentiment. Seeing Bucky again is his light at the end of the tunnel. It’s what he looks forward to every day of his captivity. If he is gone, there will be nothing stopping him from–

Stark wipes away the tears gathering in Steve’s lashes, his fingers tenderly brushing his cheek. Steve doesn’t push him away. “Is this something you want?”

“It’s something I need.”

“…Alright. I will let him off with a warning. This time. For you,” Stark agrees, planting a kiss along Steve’s jawline before resting his head in the hollow of his neck. “But you need to talk to him, convince him to back off. I will not be so lenient next time he crosses me.”

Though he can’t see Stark’s face, Steve can hear the threat in his voice. There can’t be a next time. Bucky won’t survive it.

“Understood.”

* * *

“Hey Buck, you sure got yourself in a jam this time,” Steve says from the other side of the locked metal door. The guards had left them alone, but as a precaution, Steve is only allowed to speak to Bucky through the narrow sliding panel located at eye level.

Bucky runs up to him. “Stevie! What the fuck is going on? I can’t believe… all this time, I thought you were dead, you jerk, but you were just playing house with that evil jackass.”

Steve remains calm, collected. “I talked to Tony, and he’s going to let you go, but you can’t come back here, okay?”

The other man is silent for a beat. “…He threatening you? You can tell me.”

“He’s not threatening me,” Steve lies. _Not directly anyway, not anymore._ “I’ve just got a nice life going here, and is it so wrong to want it to continue?”

Bucky scoffs in disbelief. “This isn’t like you. If you are free to come and go as you please, just come home. The girls miss you, Stevie.”

If Steve is going to save his friend, he has to burn this bridge, then ravage the surrounding countryside, running roughshod over every sacred thing they’ve ever shared before finally salting the earth for good measure.

“Jesus, Bucky. You’ve always been so goddamn stubborn, you know that? Ever since we were kids. You want the truth? The truth is that the only reason we were friends is because I had nothing, and I was just looking for a soft place to land,” he says, his tone dripping with uncharacteristic cruelty. “And now I have Tony… and Tony’s good to me, you know. I have everything I need here, so I don’t need you anymore, especially if you’re only going to barge in here and screw everything up for me.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Steve uses every lesson he has ever learned from Pepper, looking Bucky directly in the eye when he asks, “Does it look like I’m lying?” And he can see the exact moment his best friend’s heart breaks. “Now, go home, Bucky. Go back to Janie, Annie, and what’s-her-face.”

“Becky.”

“Do I care?” he rolls his eyes. “You’re not needed nor wanted here, so get out. I’m serious.” Then he slides the panel shut and escapes before he can beg forgiveness from his best and oldest friend.

* * *

Later that night, long after Bucky has gone back to Brooklyn without so much as a backwards glance towards the Carbonell compound, Steve lies awake next to Stark – Tony – and thinks about nothing but the ache in his ass and the drip of cum making a mess of his thighs.

Tony holds him, cuddling in close, molding himself to the curve of Steve’s body, his nose pressed against his shoulder and lips mouthing lazy kisses across his collarbone.

“Mmm… I love you, Steve,” he murmurs, low and content.

Steve turns his face away and says nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Van Gogh’s “View of the Sea at Scheveningen” was actually stolen in 2002 from the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam and recovered in 2016 from the home of an Italian mafia boss outside Naples.


End file.
